


I Shot You AU

by AceDhampir



Category: Roleplay - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Roleplay, canon character/oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:53:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceDhampir/pseuds/AceDhampir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The I shot you AU, an Au where Mick was responsible for Ethan’s near death and transformation. Rated R for Torture</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Frantic footsteps pound against moist boards on the aging Boston dock. Krieg is sweaty and exhausted, a gash on one arm speaking of his slip up and the very reason he’s being pursued now. The hitman was hired to take down a city-level politician. A blade to the spine, or a shot to the neck. Either would work in a crowded setting like that. He knew it sounded like easy pay, and he knew easy pay means trouble. But he took it anyway. He took the job, and as soon as he got close, he realized just how easy it was.

 

So easy it was a setup.

The weapons were turned on him in a heartbeat, cries to get down and surrender flooding the air. A man in lightweight body armor barreled forward to tackle him down and wrench his arms back. He struck back with a powerful kick, and he ran. He vaulted a barrier stopping traffic, slicing his arm on a temporary metal roadsign as he did so.

The chase has lasted for twenty minutes, and he’s absolutely exhausted. Straight-up sprinting can only push him so far, and now that the half hour point is being reached he’s running out of places to go. They’ve cornered him. He’s got no transportation and nowhere to go but to hide on the docks or slink into the water, hoping he can evade the coast guard and get out.

It’s night now, the lights coming from overheads at the dockyard and helicopters above, neon signs and billboards, city lights and the flashlights officers carry or wear on their shoulders. The FBI is here, and the local cops wonder just what they’ve stumbled into to bring in a team this heavy-duty.

It’s raining. The boards of the dock are soggy and damp, sending sharp impacts up his legs with each exhausted step. The young man is fighting for breath, sweaty, weakened. His arm is covered in blood. This is it. He makes it off the end of this dock or he’s history, prison fodder.

He’s not going to stop now.

_“This boy’s one of the best. He’ll get your man.”  
_ _“One of the best snipers in the BSF. The best sniper in all of the UK.”  
_ _"He’s the best shot you’ve got.”_

If it weren’t for Sam Cooper he wouldn’t be here. A run in with a few SEALs and saving a washed up Cooper kept Mick and the American in a tight circle, even after leaving for the FBI, it seemed Cooper kept Mick’s name and number. Would be the only reason he was told he was being shipped off to the US first thing in the morning for a manhunt. Little time to prep, little time to get his information, he didn’t care. This was just a job. He was just taking down another criminal.

He’s told their man is wanted, that he’d needed alive. If they didn’t want him dead they wouldn’t have brought a sniper along, that’s his thinking. Most people that came in contact with his gun didn’t usually make it out alive. He’s positioned on the back of a billboard, the buildings aren’t tall enough for a good shot and with how narrow it is it means only one American has to sit up there with him to act as an unexperianced spotter. 

It’s a while before the sub is spotted, and Mick makes his preparations to take his shot. Bastard’s fast. Mick’s eyes and rifle are faster. Scope is pulled up to a brown eye, long hair kept out of his face and rolled into some kind of knot to keep from distracting him and flying into the scope. Mick calculates how fast he’s moving before he gets ready to take his shot. Five seconds.

His SVD is angled on the bipod, cheek resting against the rubber band covered butt before he smirks. Four seconds. His target is in sight, nearing the end of the dock. “ _Makin’ the shot now. You got a second to call it off gents_ ,” he mutters into the radio, so focused on his job that he doubted he’d even hear a cease fire if it was made with the blood pounding in his ears.

Three. No order is made.  
Inhale.  
Two. “ _Take the shot._ ”  
Hold it.  
One.

His bullet hits home, muffled by the sound of rain and thunder overhead. If the unsub fell like he was supposed to, he’d be face first on the docks, right where the wood would end, inches from freedom. There were snipers, and then there was Mick Rawson.

 _“Is he dead?”_ Stupid question from a stupid man. Mick snorts, pulling up his rifle and and glaring at his American partner.

_“Course ‘e’s dead. Solid shot ‘n’ I don’t miss.”_

Certainly full of himself. Then again, he’s got reason to. He wouldn’t have been called in if he wasn’t the best. Still he waits, wanting to know what the results were.

The bullet strikes inches from his heart, and he goes down hard. All breath leaves his body and in that moment he knows he’s dying. Actually, he’s probably already dead. But if he were dead, could he feel that excruciating numbness that is abruptly replaced by a flood of raw pain? Shouldn’t the pain fade out to nothing but white now, before it all ends? Shouldn’t he not feel this? 

He gags on his own blood and stretches an arm out, nails digging into the wood at the end of the dock as he makes a useless attempt to try and crawl forward. He’s alive, alright, and while bleeding out he’s still in motion as best as he can be. Yells and shouts follow until a booted foot plants on his back. At this point, he’s going into shock. His body shakes weakly and his eyes close tightly, teeth gritting together and mind in a whirlwind of pain and fear. He’s going to pass out soon, and probably die. He knows it.

Mick hit him, alright, but he’s anything but dead.

 _“_ Oh Bollocks _.”_

_There was something wrong. Mick could sense it. Shit, he could see it. Yanking his spotter’s scope and ignoring the American’s complaint he peered down, hearing the sounds of sirens and and other cars pull up outside the docks. “_ _Shit_ _.”_

_“_ _What?”  
_ _“_ I fucked up, obviously. Shit _.”_

Someone wasn’t happy. Had to be a tough son of a bitch to make it through a shot like that. Guns surrounded the subject, if he tried to fight back he’d end up dead faster than he’d bleed out. It was almost ridiculous watching them crowd around, ordering him not to move and allowing a stretcher and a couple of paramedics to break the line of armored guards.

It was only a moment later that Mick’s radio buzzed. “ _Rawson? Get down here._ ” Wonderful. He wanted to go home, not spend more time yapping after work. Someone better buy him a drink.

He climbed down the side of the bilboard, lighting a cigarette the instant his feet touched the floor and ignored the annoyed looks of the Americans around him. If they had a problem with it, well, they could sod off for all he cared. Mick wasn’t part of their team; their comfort around him didn’t matter. Except Cooper’s of course.

 _“’E’s not dead. Might that cause a bit of trouble, Yeah?”  
_ _“That’s what we wanted,”_  the head muttered, hearing reports on his radio as his men dealt with the suspect. _”Your Brit did good, Cooper. Despite nearly killing our suspect.”  
_ _"He’s Welsh. And I told you he was the best. If he couldn’t get Krieg he’d get damn close.”_

 _“Right. What about ‘em? What you gonna do with ‘em?”_ Mick asked, somewhat confused about the events going on. “ _I mean, s’not like ‘e’s very useful. Would’ve been better if I just shot two inches to the left_.”  
 _"We’ll take care of him_ ,” Cooper assured him. It didn’t even dawn on Mick why he was concerned in the first place. This guy was just another criminal. No one important, no one would care that he’d just been shot down, right? That’s how it always was. “ _You shot fairly close to his heart. There’s a chance he might make it. Makes him good for questioning if they save him. Tomorrow we’ll go over the details_.  _Get some rest. You did good, Mick._ ”

Watching the paramedics lift the suspect into the back of an ambulance, more upset that he fucked up the shot than anything else. At least now he had time to rest, the ten hour flight and non-stop action had him exhausted. Wasn’t like he was every going to see that suspect again. There was no way he’d survive the abulance ride. 

If only.

If only he had died, if only he hadn’t ended up living through that ride. Of course, they put him in a medically induced coma as soon as he’s in the ER, and he won’t wake up for days. To him, it feels like hours.

But when his eyes do crack open all he knows is there’s a cool, numb pain about him that sends aches and throbs running down his spine. It feels exposed to the open air, too, and it’s sickening. He groans, but his voice is muffled by a tube down his throat and a bit in his mouth to keep him from biting down on his tongue or grinding a hole through his cheek. Wearing down his teeth too, no doubt. He doesn’t have the energy to get up, anyway. There are voices, a pinprick in his ribcage. That hurt pretty badly. He can’t shift, but he grunts in protest. There are quick voices.

"Oh, he’s conscious. Take him down again." Bloodstained gloves move to inject a syringe into an IV, and all fades out again.

When he comes to this time, a voice is commanding him to move an arm. It doesn’t register at first, and he just closes his eyes again until a voice speaks firmly and states that he needs to. With pain, he does so. He feels so heavy. All fades again.

This cycle continues for longer than he’ll ever be aware, until after the fact when he’s awoken to the horrors that have befallen him, falling into a blind panic attack of rage, disgust, and fear. It has been a month and a half of surgery, small operations nearly every other day. He’s been on the table that long, and when it’s finally done and he’s left in his cell, strapped once more to rest on his stomach so he doesn’t hurt himself or tear stitches, he sobs blindly into the pillow, eyes bloodshot and hurting from their modifications and the pressure in his head. Even when the initial shock no longer hits him, the pain leaves him miserable and longing for death.

Death he can’t have, and death that’s completely out of his reach. Why? He can’t move. Even when not strapped down, he can’t fucking move.

It was just a job. Just a gunning down of some asshole who deserved it, and in a few days he’d be back in England to be shipped off somewhere else. 

He’s assured that his man died in the ambulance, and that he’d be paid around the time he landed back home. Still, something didn’t seem right about that, but he accepted it and moved on. Mick was a soldier, it wasn’t his job to question anything. His job was to shoot what he was told to shoot, kill what he was supposed to kill, and then report to his supervisor. 

Soon though, he jobs would evolve.

Much like the job he was on right now on a tall Detroit rooftop.

Bumping in to Ethan wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Frankly, Mick was ecstatic to find someone with the same profession who didn’t treat it like a competition. That made it easier. Just some small time dealer, and an agreement to split the outcome seemed to win over the other hitman, and seemed to form them a small partnership in the long run. 

Armed with his now new spotter, Mick set up his gear and got himself prepared, almost excited about having a spotter that wasn’t a short sighted prick with an attitude problem. If anything, he was interested in seeing how he worked, it wasn’t often Mick actually got to work with someone much anymore anyway.

Busy with his things, he let Ethan do as he wished while he set up, twisting on his silencer balancing the rifle on it’s biped before finally being completely satisfied in his set up.

Ethan settles down beside Mick once he’s ready, munching on a gallon-sized ziplock of cereal as he does so. He’s shameless in how much of it he eats. He pops another mouthful of the Chex and crunches happily as he settles in, legs drawing in crosslegged before him. When he’s swallowed, he glances to Mick, grinning.

"So. Tell me about this guy again, what we know? Let’s go over this shit, ‘cause I forgot. I want to make sure I do this right, you know? First big hit together. First time I’ve worked with ANYONE else, to be honest." Ethan pulls his scope from his pocket, adjusting it and raising it briefly to take a peek down before it lowers and his other eye opens again. He waits patiently for his response, rocking back and forth somewhat like a kid might.

He shrugged, adjusting his rifle a bit. “Some big face drug dealer, killed an undercover agent a while back. ‘E’s been on our list for a while but killin’ one of us was the last straw,” he leaves it to Ethan’s imagination what “us” exactly is. “Nothin’ too big, s’not like ‘e’s a celebrity or somethin’. Can you imagine that? Downin’ a celeb in the middle of the city? Would be a riot.”

He’s glad Ethan’s making conversation; too many times he was stuck with grumpy and unimpressive idiots for work. This guy, there was something about him Mick liked. He had a personality, for one thing. “S’like the most routine of routine you could get, eh? S’not that bad. Y’mind if I smoke? If you really wanna know about the guy, the dossier’s in my bag over there.”

Usually he wouldn’t ask, but Ethan doesn’t seem the smoker type. Maybe he’d just polite. 

"Smoke it up, bro." Ethan waves a hand dismissively. He doesn’t partake, but he can bear it. He sets down his cereal and shifts, wincing uncomfortably as he does so. Without a word as to why, he abruptly peels off the sleeveless shirt and dabs at bandages Mick wouldn’t have known were in place on his side. "Got in a bar fight. Well…it wasn’t even at a bar. It was a brawl including two drunk idiots, and one of them had a busted bottle. I’m healing up. I think I just popped stitches, maybe. Thought so, anyway. Do you see blood?" There’s none, although the wound was clearly extensive. None of that, though, stands out at all compared to those odd, thin, white scars down his arms and across his shoulders. Just what the fuck are those? But that pales in comparison with the well-placed bullet hole in his back. it’s smaller at the entry point, bigger on the exit as it should be. That was a damn good shot, and it’s a miracle he’s alive at all. It’s old and healed well, although white.

It obviously doesn’t bother him any.

He does indeed light up, settling for one of the cheapest he can buy. Not the best smell and not the best taste, but that keeps him from wanting too many.

"I can take a look." weird request, but then again, it showed how much Ethan seemed to trust him already. Crouching down, he looked around, brown eyes scanning Ethan’s strange physique before shrugging. "Nah, see no blood. I can ‘elp you fix those up later though. You do ‘em yourself?"

He prepares himself to stand before the scars catch his eyes. Weird looking things, a contrast in color to the rest of his skin and almost looking…too strange. Like surgical scars instead of the usual things people in their profession would normally have. His eyes finish on the scarring on his back, thinking nothing of it.

But wait a minute.

That’s a bullet wound. A very, very specific bullet wound. 

 _Oh God_.

Mick’s been in the military. He knew wounds, even if he wasn’t the medical type, he saw all kinds of things. That’s why he stares, unblinking. A few inches closer it would be over the heart. It’s a very specific size too, the perfect size of a rifle bullet belonging to a beloved Dragunov. Couldn’t be right? He got paid for that hit. He was told the subject died. Just a coincidence. But Mick can’t stop staring, remembering the best shot of his career.  _Oh shit_.

Ethan knows Mick’s staring now. He can feel it as much as he can see it. He laughs somewhat quietly and rolls his shoulders, stretching out obvious stiffness in his form. “I know. I’m pretty marked up, between the scars and the ink. This new one shouldn’t leave much, I don’t think. Maybe a thin line. My skin color helps hide a lot of it, so that’s nice.” He sits back down, remaining shirtless for the time being. Soon, he’s back to his cereal again. “It’s ok. I know they’re striking. I get that a lot.” He reassures the sniper and flashes a grin.

Ethan knows nothing about identifying wounds from rifles. Shotgun versus handgun he can do, but that’s about it. He would never suspect the rifle that’s feet away from him. He doesn’t seem on the attack, either.

He…doesn’t know.

"I’m…’M sorry. Just ah, got…I’m sorry for staring," he appreciates Ethan’s lack of agitation at his rudeness, but it still troubles the fuck out of him. " _Sgriw fi_.”

 _The exact same spot_. 

Swallowing down that panic and taking a log drag from his cigarette, he calmed himself. There was no way. It couldn’t be. They told him his hit killed him. That there would be no way this could ever haunt him. Maybe he was just off his rocker. Wouldn’t be the first time Mick’s thought himself insane. 

"They suit you, actually," he said once he got his voice back, trying not to let it shake. "They look kind of badass, really."

If this was the same man, could Mick tell him what he did? Were those other scars his fault? Too many questions, too much worrying. Shoving it aside, Mick stretched and tried to keep himself focused. “I’ll help you tighten those up when we can stay in one place. The target should be pulling up soon. You ever see a Dragunov in action?”

"Hey, thanks, bro! I like ‘em. They’re part of me now, part of where I’ve come from. I couldn’t see myself without them, scars and ink." He grins and gently rotates his wrist, causing a few quiet pops as he does so. He takes another mouthful of cereal and peers over at the rifle before his eyes narrow and he shrugs. 

"Nah. Never. Don’t know much about rifles, bro. Good vision, though. I’ll help you line up anything, guaranteed. Scout for target, other problems…you know, backup. We get attacked, you’ve got me." He settles down next to Mick now, positioning himself exactly the same as if mocking him somewhat, now ending up with them side by side. 

"Show me this big gun you’re so proud of." Oh my god.

"Usually I wait until ‘bout the third date but sine you asked so nicely…" well now, this was a way to distract himself. Grabbing the guna nd showing Ethan the contours and mods, he shows he obviously takes pride in the large black rifle. "This is a Russian SVD Dragunov, modded with a silencer an’ modded scope, thing can see up to a mile when I get m’self in the best spot. Six hundred twenty barrel, fires ‘bout thirty or so rounds a minute, no money in for a cheek pad so I’ve settled for the rubber bands. ‘Ad this thing for years, since my early military days. Things a bastard, I love it."

And I probably shot you with it.

Feeling sick just at the thought of that, Mick set it back down on it’s bipod and sighed. “S’all I ‘ave left now, really. Don’t get to ‘ave much in this line of business. So I guess a fancy gun and a nice car is about all I can brag about. What do you use?”

He wants the conversation off him and the rifle. Really, he doesn’t even want to look at it. All it does it make him feel guilty for this near stranger. 

"I don’t really go for guns, bro. Not that often, anyway. Handguns, if anything. I’ve got a few toys." He reaches into a pocket to remove a fancy push knife, passing it over. "Great for between the ribs, or even a little scratch if you poison it right. I’ve got…" He removes a garrote next, followed by a small little .22 just for a close range bite if he’s cornered and needs a moment to break free. There’s a utility knife and knuckledusters, but that’s surprisingly it. Just how does he do his job? Simple.

"I prefer nobody to know a third party was involved in the death. I take ‘em out, nobody knows I was there at all. Clean, smooth. Like a hot knife through butter." He rolls to his side now and grins at Mick as he remains situated there, somewhat posed, injured side off the ground. Show off.

"I’d say we should get a drink after this, but I’m sober. Settle for a movie?" Did…he just…?

Tread lightly, Mick. Then again, they both have the same jobs, the same sort of mindset. He should just say no. Just tell Ethan he couldn’t stay, they he had his sister’s wedding in a month and that all of this would be too much. Bring up the PTSD, tell Ethan about how his ex couldn’t handle it and ended up leaving him behind. Bring up the ex fiance. Just do whatever he could to keep from saying-

"I’d love that, really. I ah, ha. Wow. I mean, I guess it depends on what’s playing, eh?"

Ethan grins and sits up again, obviously ecstatic at the idea. “There’s that new thriller out, No Good Deed. Looks interesting. I heard it was actually pretty good.” He offers it with a shrug and then drops something else. “I mean, if you’re hungry, we could eat first. Or we could eat after. I could grill something, back at my place, maybe?” Oh, Ethan. You smooth motherfucker. He slides his shirt back on, but it’s slow and deliberate. Wow, what a douchebag.

What a handsome and completely endearing douchebag. Maybe hot is a better word. Pleased, he takes another bite of cereal before he reaches for his scope again and takes a look down through the window they’re watching. Nothing so far.

 

"I ah…"

Ah shit. Shit shit shit shit shit-

"I’d love that. Should’ve mentioned it but I’m not exactly the go out type, y’know? So I mean, yeah, dinner could work."

Oh God what was he doing. That was it. He’d have dinner and leave. Never see Ethan again. Nothing could do wrong, right? It wasn’t like he was purposely trying to fuck himself over. Ethan was incredibly charming. That was a problem. If he let himself get in too deep, he’d fuck himself over. 

He couldn’t fuck himself over. He’d have to come up with every excuse. There’s no way their partnership could go on if Ethan was infact the man he shot. And well, Micks on sanity about it was on the line. He’s not even sure, yet that guilt is there.  _Yeah, love what you’ve done with the place, mate. By the way, remember that bullet wound in your back? Yeah that was me. Suprise_. Fuck.

"Great. Sure, we can do that." Ethan is pleased at the response and doesn’t seem concerned about Mick not wanting to head out on the town for anything. He can adjust quickly, and to be quite honest what he’s most excited about is the fact the man said yes to him at all. He was positive he’d be turned down. After all, they’ve only barely met. It’s a bold move to make, but he knows for a fact that he’s got butterflies in his stomach, and sometimes that’s worth exploring. It isn’t the kind of butterflies that constitute a one-night stand, either. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself.  
 _You are so getting ahead of yourself. God damn it._

He doesn’t express that thought and the fear that comes with it, only settling down and taking a peek through his scope again.

"Ah. There we are. Line ‘em up when you’re ready to go. Up for two birds with one stone, bro?" His words become clear with a glance to aim. The target isn’t quite in sight yet, only the lower half of his body visible. But when he moves, its’ clear there’s a second set of feet. There’s a possibility Mick could take them both out at once, should it line up. "Ahah…kidding. Mostly. I know this isn’t the movies."

"Heh, yeah doesn’t exactly work like that. If you’re lucky and the trajectory’s right and you can ‘it the right spot. But once they get in my line of sight, I can take ‘em both down without much effort," he smirked, peering down his scope and lining his rifle up, waiting for the two of them to walk out in the open. Legs weren’t the best places to take someone out, of course. "Wonderin’ who our second man is, yeah? I only got a dossier on the one."

Good point. Mick didn’t like shooting a second subject he had no information on. Maybe he’d wait, see if Ethan knew this one. It fell into his civilian thing, innocents weren’t to be killed and if either of them weren’t his target, he didn’t take the shot.

Things used to be much simpler in the BAU.

"Keep an eye out, yeah? S’your call, spotter."

Wow, that felt like  _deja-vu_. 

 Ethan waits, curious to see what will come of this. Finally, after what feels like an age, the man walks closer to the window. Bingo. The shot is clear. The other, though, remains curiously out of reach. He’s got a choice to make. Wait and see and let the guy run, or wait to take them both. He takes the chance, and he holds his breath.

It pays off. The other figure moves to the window, and Ethan abruptly inhales so sharply it hurts his throat. His pulse is racing instantly, and he’s clearly spooked. What the fuck is wrong with him? He speaks plainly and without so much as a moment of hesitation as he makes it clear exactly what he wants to happen.

"Take the shot. Both shots."

“You got it boss.”

A second of adjustment, a quick inhale, and a single shot is fired before he clears the barrel, letting the second panic for just a moment before he meets his end nearly a second later through his head. Three seconds is all it takes to take down two targets, and he’s quite proud of his skill to work so fast. For a semi-automatic weapon, Mick seems able to easily compensate for that time.

Pulling back the rifle, knowing full well that both bodies are cold on the floor, Mick feels incredibly proud of himself. For a moment anyway, his internal celebration was cut short by general panic, fear he’s fucked up again. Ethan doesn’t know him, but he’d gotten himself face. What if he didn’t kill them? There’s very, very few Welsh snipers in the US, especially ones as good as he is. What are the chances he could be found?

Shoving all that aside, Mick waits a few moments before picking up the shell and sliding it into his pocket, he glanced around a bit before disassembling his rifle. “Ah. We should go. Could be any chance someone will guess a sniper and come investigate if he ‘as boys with ‘em. I rather live tonight, y’know? I gotta call my boss soon anyway. Thank you for the ‘elp.” 

At least that nervousness could be shoved aside for now. He’s report to his boss and fly out of Detroit tomorrow anyway. Not like Mick has anything-

Oh, Ethan. He’d have to figure out how to leave as soon as possible.  _Then why did you accept a date with him you fucking plonker_? No way this was going to go well. 

When the second man falls, Ethan mutters something under his breath in another language. It sounded like German, but it was aspirated and hard to hear. He stands and dusts off his knees, giving a nod at the statement. He knows they need to get out just as badly, and it shows on his face. “Right. You need my number, too, don’t you? Let’s get out of here, I’ll pass it your way. Let’s say…tomorrow for that date, huh? If you’re still on for it. I mean, if you change your mind tonight, that’s fine.” Ethan kind of gets the feeling he’ll be stood up. He’s ok with that, honestly. He can handle it.

He heads towards the building’s ladder to slide back down to the fire escape, but he hesitates, waiting on Mick.

Oh thank God. Now he just needed to say the perfect thing.

_My boss needs me back in Virginia tomorrow. Sorry._

_I’m sorry, I can’t come. I need to leave._

_As much as I liked the work, mate, I need to leave. Tomorrow I’ll be gone._

“We could do tonight,” oh God.  _Shut up!_  “If that’s alright? I mean I…I was just gonna stay in my car. I couldn’t afford the hotel this time around and I’m kind of hungry.”

He was setting himself up. Why was he doing this? He should leave, take it back, something, but instead he only walks over to the escape, letting Ethan down first and then he slowly makes his way down, literally beating himself up for being stupid.  _He has a fucking crush_. A crush on the man he probably shot and nearly killed. and what’s worse is that he’s ignoring the guilt and letting himself jump headlong into something he doesn’t understand. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Oh. Ethan won’t let that happen. He’s not set up in the best of situations either, but it isn’t a car, and he has food. “Well, fuck, you have to come with me, then. I’ll grill us something. You vegetarian or anything like that? If so I’ve got you covered. Whatever you need. How do shishkabobs sound?” His favorite, hands down. As they climb down, he brings up a few more things. “You’re welcome to stay the night. Really, don’t sleep in your car in a town like this, please! I’ll be worried whether you ever woke up at all if you forgot to text me or call or something.” He’s cheery and bright, clearly enjoying himself with no remorse.

"The bed’s comfortable, too." The bed. One bed. That isn’t surprising, really, but that’s also an invitation.

“That sounds fine, but I should let you know I’m not vegetarian. S’at a problem? He’d dated enough women to where it was. Male partners never seemed to care. Partners. Christ. What was he getting himself into?

“I appreciate it, really. This place doesn’t seem very safe,” that’s a good assumption. There was a chance even leaving his car out would probably attract someone into trying to tamper with it.

Fixing up his gear and swinging the case on his back, Mick assessed himself for a moment before he was ready to go. “Lead the way then? Really though, mate I appreciate it. Though I think the decidin’ factor’s gonna be what kind of bed you got.”

Oh, now he was flirting back. Great. Digging himself into an even deeper hole seemed like such a good idea.

"Not a problem. I’m not really one either. I like chicken. A lot." He admits it with sheepish little grin, but it’s obvious he isn’t even sorry. "Not being safe is a mild way to put it, Mick. This place? It’s a shithole. It kills everything within it, slowly. It’s already suffocating me, but I’m a tough bastard and I think I can last a bit longer before I have to move to avoid being swallowed."

Once on the ground, his landing soft and light, he indeed does lead the way, not truly having to be told. The quip about the bed gets a droll grin right back. Oh, flirtatious, is he? Two can play this game.

"The kind of bed won’t matter so much if I’m in it."

…Oh my.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he’s serious. Why is he serious? Shut the fuck up Mick.


	2. Chapter 2

Following behind Ethan he can’t help but be somewhat amused at the man’s odd physique, but it seemed to suit him. That’s a high complement, Mick didn’t usually look at men like that, his bisexuality was mostly towards laziness and more of an appreciation of women. But no, he defiantly was looking. And liking. Stop it.

And what the fuck could really go wrong? It was all just coincidence right? Ethan was just a casual, nice guy who killed people for a living that he just happened to bump into. 

"So you’re not from ‘ere then?" he asked curiously as he managed to catch up to Ethan’s stride. From the way he described it, it seemed like he wasn’t from here at all. "I’m from Swansea m’self. ‘Aven’t really been ‘ome in nearly fifteen years. This place though, I ‘aven’t sen anything like it. And I travel. A lot. Can’t really see why anyone would want to live ‘ere, really."

"Nah. I’m not even American." He admits it with a wry smile. "I grew up in Germany. I guess I live here now, though. I’m not a legal citizen, though, per say. Hope that doesn’t bother you." Like it would. Ethan knows he’s being checked out, and he relishes that attention. Hey, who can blame him? He’s enjoying it a bit too much, chiefly because he’s smitten with a bit of a lustful crush on the other man.  
"Mom was Vietnamese. Gave me a nice mix, good skin tone, interesting…height." That’s one way to put it. At least he can find it in himself to joke about his stature.  
He leads the way through winding, uneven streets and crumbling buildings until he stops before a cheap apartment complex. It..isn’t impressive, at all. But looking at how he’s dressed, would that really be expected?  
"Third floor. End of the hall." He states it proudly and glides inside, virtually boundi g the stairs two at a time until they reach the correct floor. From there, too, he unlocks and opens the faded red door.  
The interior isn’t spartan, but it’s poor. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wouldn’t know with the accent. I’m jealous. The Welsh is too thick, I can’t imitate anything more than an al’ight cockney and a spot on scouse, I’m amazed you’re able to hold it. And Vietnamese? Interesting. Probably gets a lot of negativity, eh? I’m a quarter Irish, so I saw my own bit of it back when I was livin’ in Cardiff. All a bunch of bollocks really.”

Good thing he’s established that. Growing up with tight racism in the family seemed to make Mick almost colorblind. No one deserved racism. As for Ethan’s height, well, height differences did sometimes make all the difference.

He doesn’t mind the sparseness, frankly he likes it. A lot of people in their profession, specifically ones Mick’s dealt with were so gung ho about looking like they had millions of dollars with their big dogs and giant houses. Nah, he liked this. This was good. Felt safe.

"Where should I put my gear?" Good question. Ethan brought up a bed. No way he was bringing his rifle in there with him. 

"Yeah. I’m used to it, though. Pretty much just rolls off my back." Bullshit. It still hurts him every time, but like all others in his position he’s become damn good at saying otherwise. Truly, it’s impressive.

"Living room’s fine, by the couch? If you need to, the coffee table, or there’s the coat closet over there. Pretty much empty, just some boxes." It’s probably a good idea to not look into what would be within those boxes, though, for the sake of wanting to spend the night. At least it’s nothing morbid or disgusting. Just…unsettling to most, even those in this profession.

"Dinner. Right. There’s a park literally half a block away. Grills and tables. Unless you’d rather stay in?" He offers both, able to switch it up in a moment’s notice. In truth, he’s surprised where they’ve ended up and doesn’t want to blow it.

"Ah, I mean, I don’t really care," Mick swallowed, leaving his things by the couch, trying to keep it neat and not just leave his bits everywhere. He’s a good house guest, which is actually surprising considering he kills people. What a guy.

"I mean, ‘m not picky. Just hungry," that’s…a general description of him. Hungry, depressed. Borderline sociopathic in his apathy, maybe. Wow. "I think it depends on what you were thinkin’. Babs, right? I mean unless you’ve got a grill ‘ere on the roof." Of course he’d bring up a roof. He belonged on the roofs. 

He wasn’t good at these things, the poor boy. Then again, he’s also talking to a man he probably fucked up a few years ago. His head’s jumbled enough as it is. “I dunno, whatever you think is best, mate.” Really, it all ended to food. He didn’t exactly care.

"Actually, funny you mention that. There’s one I could take up there, if you wanted." He offers it with a little grin. "I’ve just got this itching for bell peppers and grilled onions, and when that hits nothing else is going to satisfy it." He figures that option might be liked, so he waits to see if it is, gathering ingredients regardless. Unless he’s abruptly pulled away from the food and pushed against a wall or something, he keeps his back turned.

Hey, anything could happen

"I wouldn’t mind that. I guess all the movin’ about ‘as me tired, y’know? S’got a fire excape, right?"

God, he sounded jittery. He was focusing too much. Thinking too much. He needed a fucking distraction. And well, wasn’t like they couldn’t eat after, right? Fuck it, either now or never. Plus, Ethan seemed into him, right? He could always be told to back off.

It’s a quick motion with his hand that he gripped Ethan’s shoulder, pulling to get the other man to turn around, and if he did, Mick neatly planted his lips on his, gently pushing in a little tongue, mostly to see his reaction. And mostly because the personal distraction was working. Now he could freak out about being rejected. It was a bit non consensual, really. All he needed was Ethan’s reaction on wither it was wanted or not.

Ethan turns when his shoulder is gripped, and his reaction is surprised but melts quickly to warmth. The kiss is returned, although he’s a bit slow to take to it, and all doubt is washed away the instant he shows himself willing and more than able to take part. A hand snakes out to grip near Mick’s elbow, almost as if he’s afraid the man will pull away. The tongue is appreciated. Well, this isn’t dinner. He’ll take what he can get, though.

This is better than dinner. 

His breath finally exhales, something he didn’t realize he was holding. His pulse picks up ever so faintly. The kiss started out as deeper than most would, and he isn’t going to reverse that trend. There’s a breathless moment of stillness between them for a few seconds, but no words are said. Instead, his gaze is just…searching, softly. 

When he pulls apart form Ethan he’s a bit flustered, licking his lips and more or less somewhat embarrassed by it. Why, he isn’t quite sure.

"I ah…I just…," Just what?  _I just probably shot you a couple of years ago but if I distract you maybe you’ll never find out because I actually_  really  _like you and honestly the guilt I have over it and not knowing if it was_  actually  _you is too much to handle so yeah sorry about that._  ”I’m sorry I just…ah…”

God just shut up. “…Wanted to see somethin’.” He doesn’t pull away though. He wasn’t to know what Ethan’s thinking. Brown eyes scan his face, looking for something, anything. “Try somethin’.”

Ethan’s face is currently a look of awestruck wonder, but it’s a good thing. He doesn’t ask Mick to not do so again, and he doesn’t ask for the other to back off. No, that’s the look of someone who’s actually interested. His words are hushed and somewhat breathy when he says them, also not exactly given a lot of thought. Funny, though. It sure seems like they were.

See something? Try something? Yeah, he definitely did those. Ethan’s hand doesn’t leave Mick’s arm, and it’s clear he doesn’t really want to let go, either.

"Try a little more." The reply is just shy of husky. He rises up faintly onto the balls of his feet, a hand moving to abruptly thread fingers through Mick’s hair. He tilts the man’s head down a bit closer to him as he rises to meet for a second kiss, the hand on the other’s arm only gripping a little bit tighter.

 _Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_.

He returns the second kiss, hands moving to the sides of Ethan’s face to deepen it, getting what he can out of it. He’s still somewhat flustered but he’s figuring out exactly what he wants. He bends down a bit, letting Ethan rest back on his feet. The height difference is a nice bonus, then again a majority of people he’s been with have been shorter than him. 

What was he doing? He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t care. Wasn’t his problem to worry about anymore. Letting himself ignore something that he  _knows_  isn’t true and just can’t be true go, he realizes this could be a thing.

"Are you ah," he snorts when he breaks again, lips just ghosting over Ethan’s as he struggled a bit to breathe. "Are you seein’ anyone?"

"No." The statement is quiet but truthful. He’s not, freshly moved to this city and without attachment at all. His gaze is searching, his lower lip softly bitten between his teeth in a nervous and excited habit of his. "Are you?" He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for, when it comes to an answer. He has no clue WHAT to expect, honestly. He hopes that’s a no, though. He really, really does. He craves this man. He wants to know why, wants to learn why, wants to understand what’s driven him to this point so quickly.

He waits for his answer with baited breath, face shifting and nose nuzzled softly against that of the other.

"Wouldn’ve asked if I was, eh?" the sarcasm is playful and Mick swallows, somewhat emotional over this little fling, and very much sure that he doesn’t want to continue calling it just that. "S’all a bit sudden but I mean, obviously we work well together and ah, just…y’know?"

Does he know? Fuck, does Mick even know what he’s trying to say. “Guess I could use some down time, y’know. Just like, there’s somethin’ and I wouldn’t mind tryin’ it out, if you’re up for it?”

Oh God. Already asking the man out. His nervousness is evident but the pretty accent helps him mask it a little. Ethan will never know. Mick think it’s coincidence, might notice Mick’s skill as being familiar, but there’s no way he’ll know and no way he’ll fuck this up.

"I mean, you understand what ‘m askin’?"

"Yeah." Ethan replies softly, a little grin on his lips. "You want a portable boyfriend who can also be useful on the job. I can do that." He means it, too, and that’s as much of a yes as Mick’s going to get. "I’ll go wherever. Even sleep in your car, if that’s what it comes to. I need a little adventure. And if it comes on the side if I’m with you?…" There’s always a little upwards influx of intonation on his sentences when he’s being humorous, and this is one of those times. "I’m in."

He doesn’t suspect a thing. The man he’s locked in a loose embrace with punched a hole through his chest and changed his life forever, led to turmoil and heartache and horror. But yet here he is, clinging to him like some high school virgin on prom night.

"I’m…good. I’m glad. Really. Should warn you though, it’s been a very long time for me. ‘Aven’t really been in a relationship since I was still livin’ in Wales. I’m a bit rusty, but ah, I like this."

Well…now what? 

"We should eat though, yeah?" Mick has a one track mind. Probably broke the mood too with how casually he says it. Then again, he’s starving. At least he’s gotten this out of the way. And if Ethan really wanted to steal his heart, he’d have to be able to at least cook something. "I mean, probably best to keep discussion over dinner, yeah? Was the original reason I came here."

Ethan snorts in laughter at the quick subject change to food. He can make it happen. “Right. Roof good, or…?” He wants to make sure, although he thinks that will be the choice. He quickly bags up all of the needed ingredients, wrapped and sealed safely, in one of those reusable grocery tote bags and slings it into one hand. From there, he shoves in a grill brush, tongs, a spatula, and paper plates, as well as napkins. Bases covered.

"The grill and charcoal and fuel and shit’s up by the door to the roof. Maybe you could help me get it up?" He gives a little smile, hoping all is well so far.

Fuck.

He has a boyfriend.

This is new.

"Yeah."

The boyfriend thing hasn’t sunk in yet, Mick’s focused on something else. At least now he’d get something to eat. Food man, it’s the best thing.

The problem was stairs, not the best for someone with smoker’s lung but he manages the three flights with only a bit of coughing. He’d have to quit soon, the habit was destroying his body and soon he’d be coughing up lung. Wonderful. And coughing wasn’t incredibly attractive.

At least when he finally made it up it didn’t take long for him to catch his breath back. Moving the grill equipment outside he reveled in how good it felt to be outside on a roof again. “Christ, even for a shite hole it looks pretty at night.”

"Yeah, it does." Ethan grins, glad Mick can see that. Most can’t, no natter where he takes them here. "Hey, just so you knos, I ain’t cooking every meal." He’s teasing, but he will sometimes if Mick asks or wants him too. He sets up and scrapes dowm the grill before lighting up and getting started. Soon, heavenly smells fill the air. He grills the vegetables in a strange fashion using metal pouches made of aluminum, the ingredients inside. The mean chunks are done the old fashioned way.  
By the time he assembles the first one for Mick, it’s absolutely perfect. He works on a second immediately, making it available to the other man whenever he might want it. He makes himsef a veggie one and takea a bite, satisfied.  
"Mm, there’s BBQ sauce if you want it." The meat’s so perfect that would honestly ruin it. Damn. This one’s a keeper.

"S’fine. I ‘ad to cook a lot growin’ up anyway. You ever ‘ave pasties?" Good thing Ethan’s said he’s not vegetarian. He knows it was a joke, but if Mick can set himself doing something and having some specific job to look forward to, he’s not complaining. 

"Cheers," he accepted the kabab, neglecting sauce more because he just didn’t eat with it. He’s picky, Ethan’s going to learn how to deal with that. Meat was good to him no matter how it was done, but he’s especially enjoying Ethan’s cooking. How long had it been since someone cooked for him again? That gt Ethan bonus points. "Thank you, really. It’s been a while. This is nice."

"Never even heard of them." He admits it and leaves the grill to simmer while he settles down beside Mick at the cheap, assembled picnic table up top for them to use. The building pitched in to get it, and it’s well loved. When thanked, he grins and gives a nod, taking a bite himself.

"Of course. My pleasure. I’m not the greatest, unfortunately, but I hope I’m decent enough at it to keep you happy." He’s enjoying the peppers, and that much is clear. The sweet, tangy flavor is perfection,  well and truly.

"S’alright, I’ll make some at some point ‘m sure. My mum would ‘ave me help ‘er make ‘em for my dad when he was workin’, sorta like. Not exclusively Welsh but it’s somethin’ I can make easily."

When was the last time he cooked anyway? Years, maybe, since he actually stepped foot in a kitchen. Weird to think about, really. Less the idea of cooking and more the fact that…that he’d just yapped about cooking for this man. Christ.

"It’ll work. I appreciate it. Really," he means that. One was enough for him, though, for someone who rarely got to eat at all, it was never much. He was quiet, staring out at the sea of lights and thinking, just tapping his fingers on the wood of the table. He’s clearly muddled over something.

If it’s been years since Mick has actually cooked, things could get…interesting. It’s probably a good thing that there’s a microwave available, because from the sound of it neither of them are virtuoso at conventional meals. Ethan is proud of his ability to improvise, however, and that serves his lifestyle well, just like so many other things about his choices tend to do.

Ethan can tell Mick’s wrapped up in thought, but his wondering is probably related to the abrupt nature of the agreement they just reached. Hey, it’s just a trial period. That’s how Ethan sees it, anyway. But maybe that scares Mick somewhat. Maybe he’s not used to being tied down at all, or maybe he’s just skittish. Nothing else seems to make sense, so he doesn’t question it too much. Some people are just nervous about this kind of thing. And, hey, he WAS the one that instigated that, back in the apartment. That has to be a sign that he’s not pushing any limits.

"Soooo….what’s next on your agenda, after Detroit?"

“I dunno. I take work when it’s given to me, I don’t really go out of my way to do things,” he coughed a moment before squinting as he thought. What exactly were his plans? “In a month I’m ‘eaded back to Wales to see my sister. Anything before that will just be what comes. Was plannin’ on ‘eading back to Virginia. But I guess I ‘ave a bit of incentive to stay, eh?”

Rubbing his face he sighed, he’s been exhausting himself again. More or less because he’s still internally beating himself up. That’s healthy. “What about you?”

Kind of a good thing to know. If they’re gonna work on a partnership on top of this dating thing, knowing what the other is up to makes planning things easier. And Mick’s just curious on how this man works. 

"I, ah…go where the boss tells me." He gives an open-handed shrug, arms eventually folding across his chest and grabbing at the opposite elbow or arm in a display of faint nervous tension. "I mean, I do my own shit, too, but I’ve…I’ve got a big obligation I have to keep. They’re quiet, I’m fine. But the instant I get a message I sure as hell had better respond and get to it right away." Called off with sudden notice? It makes sense. But whoever he works for must be a real hardass.

"I, ah…well, I don’t know how long that situation is going to last. I hope not many more years." YEARS? What did he get involved in?

Mick snorted. “Sounds like my bunch. My boss’ll ring me right if I don’t answer ‘er as quick as I can, y’know? Much simpler when we were just profilers, made what we do so much easier. Now it’s…You never get used to it. Being ‘omeless mostly, constantly moving. Dealin’ with shitty people, puttin’ down people and not knowin’ if you’re doing a damn lick of good, s’all bullshit, really.”

Someone’s bitter. But he has his reasons. “You ever think about splittin’? Just…telling them to fuck off and move on to somethin’ better?”

Maybe Mick’s got personal problems with what he does. No one can blame him.

"Yeah. All the time." He says it somewhat quietly, stance closing off again as he does so. "I would if I could, but…that isn’t going to happen." If he tried, what would happen? He’d end up in a cell again, and even if it were comfortable and even if it were more like a room than anything else. A prison, and one from which he can’t escape. Maybe one day they’ll have pity on him, but for now he’s trapped.

"I’m not a team player, usually. So…I’m not used to having a leash. I’m not liking it. At all." Metaphorically and literally, if one were to get technical. 

"Must be rough, eh? M’sorry,"  _mostly because it’s my fault_ , he added silently. “But I understand how you feel. Shitty job plus shitty boss doesn’t exactly make for the best work environment. Maybe if we keep this partnership thing goin’, somethin’ll come out of it.”

He sounds incredibly confident in that. Ethan’s got skill, the two of them could honestly do anything. But really, talk about work did nothing but make him bitter. Maybe best to change the subject, he noticed it’s not one of Ethan’s favorite things to talk about. “You ah, you gonna need ‘elp getting those in again?

"Nah, less to carry this time. We ate some of it, remember?" He does find it funny, though, that Mick’s in such a rush to get downstairs. He’s enjoying the weather, but he can take a good queue and react well to it. Posture loose and open again, he stands and stretches with a groan as his spine pops rather obnoxiously. Funny, though, he seems just as tense as he was before. It’s like it did nothing for him. "Mmf. Ok." He gathers up the trash and cleans off the table before he yanks the grill with him like it weighed absolutely nothing. Just how in the hell is it that easy for him? It might as well be made of solid, empty, lightweight plastic for how he lifts it with one hand. That’s impressive.

"Sorry, I just ah, I get nervous when I’m outside for too long and it’s not for a job," he gets nervous about everything. But it’s true, when faced with open air and not having his rifle around, he seemed to get riled up rather quickly. Just how he was.

He watches Ethan effortlessly lift and blinked curiously, he could tell Ethan was strong but he didn’t think he was strong enough to act like it was no big deal with Mick’s back about gave out. Weird. He’d probably find out about how strong he really was sooner or later.

He follows Ethan back down, more or less sluggish due to how tired he is. At least he has a place to stay, it would have been too late to drive back anyway. He’s grateful for Ethan’s hospitality. It’s a rare thing, especially with people in their business. He’s just glad his car is out of the question. he was looking forward to get to know Ethan a little more anyway despite the fact that his head was telling him how absolutely stupid he was. Brushing past Ethan he made for the door, knowing full well he could get it open himself, but that old Welsh gentleman in him couldn’t help it. Just how he was. 

Ethan shrugs the bag of coals into the crook of his other arm and waits on Mick to open the door to go back inside. He can’t do it with both hands full, after all, so once the other has done it he worms his way down despite the obnoxious load he’s carrying and sets everything back where he got it. The grill brush and spatula are hanging from their little leather straps around his wrists- it makes it handy, not having to worry about dropping them. He slides them off and actually holds them like a normal person once all else is down, planning to wash them and put them away like he’s done with everything else. He jogs easily down the stairs, not really looking back to see how well Mick is following.

God, he loves stairs.

Once at the apartment, he opens the door and slips inside, dropping the utensils in the sink. He stretches and rolls his shoulders back. That hit the spot- the food, the weather, the view, the company…well, the company is still with him. He turns to glance at Mick curiously now, half tempted to move in for another kiss.

Wait. No. No, is the mood even right for that? He doesn’t know. That probably shows on his face, too.

The second he’s back in the apartment it’s like he’s someone else, someone much more confident and less jumpy. Someone who’s making himself look more casual than he is. Which for him is an achievement. 

"I ah…heh."

Mick wanted to thank him of course. A little bit of thinking later he figured exactly how he’d do that. Really, what other way was there to thank him? He can see it on Ethan’s face, and honestly he’s more than happy to oblige. He takes a moment, looking down at Ethan before making his move, tipping Ethan’s chin up before kissing him again. The mood was indeed right, Mick was happy to show that with a bit of tongue. Tongue made everything better,

"Thanks for dinner," he smirked he when pulled off, waiting to see what Ethan’s reaction would be.

"You’re a good kisser." He states it plainly, lips twitching into a little grin. "Like, a really good kisser." The complement is warm and honest, too. "Do you wanna, maybe…?"  _Make out like teenagers hiding in a corner at prom? Like we’re in the back of a club? Like we’re alone at night in a car? Fucking kiss me you tall beanpole._

Ethan gestures lamely to the couch, although he really wants to point to the bed. Sex isn’t what’s on his mind, though. It’s just a place they might end up, cuddling or not. Hell, he hopes so. What’s the point in not sharing a bed?

"I mean. If you WANT to."

"If I want to, eh?"

He really, really hopes Ethan’s talking about just making out. In his good days there were jokes in his office about how he seemed to be the most sexually agile of the group, but really his inexperience and bad times had made him sour to the idea. Occasional stress release or emotional overloads he’d let get buried away in sex, but now in his old age, he didn’t care for it anymore. Didn’t have the energy.

When Ethan gestures to the couch he blinks, licking his lips for a moment before deciding his move. “Thought you ‘ad a bed? Can’t exactly fit on that thing, ‘m a bit too tall and let’s face it, two of us tryin’ to squeeze in on it? It’s just be uncomfortable.”

Good point. “Show me ‘round. Then we’ll start back up.”

"Bed. Yeah." He answers lamely and forces himself to come back to reality again, leaving the way. It isn’t a very big place, and despite the obvious small figures of the cash he can call his own he has the necessities. The bedroom is plain, but the bed is large enough and the covers are freshly made. The faintest whiff of vanilla in the air stems from a candle that isn’t currently burning. A second pair of running shoes rest by the closet door. A well-loved backpack does, too, although empty.  
"Sharing isn’t a problem, right?"

"S’alright. It’s nice," he looked around, getting a feel for the small area before nodding in approval. "Probably gonna ‘ave to get my own place at some point, eh? Maybe somethin’ bigger."

When Ethan brings up sharing, he just laughs, shrugging off his jacket to get himself more comfortable. “Sharing ain’t a problem. I ah, nah, it’ll work. It’ll work for you yeah?”

He’s fumbling. Maybe he’s getting nervous now. 

"Yeah." Ethan leaves his shoes by the other pair and shrugs off his shirt. It isn’t really a sexual move or an attempt to be that way as much as it is his tendency to do so to be comfortable. He’s a strange man, and there’s no denying it. He folds the shirt neatly and tosses it on the dresser by the tableside and glances to Mick, almost worried to start. However, it’s obvious he probably should. He strides closer confidently and reaches up to place both hands on the sides of Mick’s face in a gentle sort of cupping motion, drawing up to the balls of his feet again to sneak a kiss.

He’s glad that Ethan makes the first move, lowing himself down so that Ethan doesn’t have to bother so much with trying to reach him. It was dang cute, really.

Brown eyes were in slivers as Mick watched him, shuffling a bit closer until he was nearly pressed tight against Ethan, kissing him back as his fingers traveled to curl around his shoulders. Not really a sexual move, but Mick was eating up the warmth and closeness. He only breaks for a moment to bend down and nibble gently on the side of his neck.

"You wanna just do this all night, hmm? Cause I could do this all night." Christ.

"I’m perfectly fine with that." Ethan’s voice is a breathy whisper and little more. He’s happy to be drawn in close, his hands moving around the other’s back and remaining there, hands rising up to rest just below Mick’s shoulders, flat against the other. He doesn’t get closeness like this, not with anyone. This is different. This is…this is great. "Yeah. I’m taking you up on that." An itch scratched for both, apparently, considering they’ve quite literally just fallen into the arms of the other and happily remained there after only a handful of hours together.

"To be completely honest with you, when we met, I was scared you were straight." He admits it as little more than a jesting whisper in Mick’s ear. "Glad that was wrong." 

Mick snorted. “Nah, got over my whole ‘I must be straight and only straight’ thing a couple years ago. Though to be ‘onestly with you, s’not all the time someone catches my attention.”

That’s true. He’s been solo for a very long time. Besides casual sex dates and the occasional girl who just wanted a “British” boyfriend, he preferred being on his own. Maybe it was the guilt, but he liked Ethan, liked him enough to want to stick around despite what he’d done. He wanted something out of this. “Wanna move where it’s more comfortable? Legs’re killin’ me. Tendinitis, y’know.” Liar.

Ethan doesn’t buy it, but he just snorts in good humor and edges Mick over towards the bed before he unwraps himself from the other man and just goes ahead and climbs on, laying down and just waiting with a smug little grin on his face. What’s he going to say, anyway? Really, what is there to say? For the moment, he’s happy to fall flat on his back and remain there, although there are some butterflies jumping up in his throat and stomach that strike him as rather funny.

Mick follows, more or less excited to see what’s happening tonight. 

"Do you ‘ave a preferred side or…" either way, he’s sure there’s gonna be cuddling. Sex wasn’t an option, thankfully, and tomorrow morning he’d have to show how much he really appreciated it. Breakfast was still his forte, and it’d be a good chance to see if he could still even cook.

Either way, he stripped down, peeling off his layers until he was just down to boxers and a shirt, neatly leaving his things in an isolated corner. He wanted to be comfortable, of course, and depending on how Ethan was still feeling, he’d probably have to wait a small while longer. “You alright love?”

Ethan kicks his pants free and stays dowm in his boxers happily, answering Mick with a wry little grin on his face. “No side preference. I’m fine.” Lies. He’s…denting the bed. A lot more than he should be, too. Maybe it’s just old? Whatever the reasom, he forces himself to turn on his side and waits with a little grin on his face, not sure if Mick wants to get under the sheets right away or not.  
The scar on his chest is white and angry, but it certainly isn’t the only one. He’s got another set of those odd lines down his legs, too. Surgical, nothing but. The’re faded, though, and his ink is so much more interesting to look at.

"Good."

The sheets were ideal, and Mick just happily slid under, just happy to be somewhere warm for a few moments, trying his best to ignore the scars. The tattoos on the other hand are interesting, he’d have to ask about them later. Maybe show Ethan his own sometime.

"I ‘ave to admit," he coughed once he managed to get himself comfortable, ignoring how he almost seemed to roll into the dent Ethan made. How much did this guy actually weigh? “‘M glad you ‘aven’t brought up sex already. If I ah, if I can admit another thing, ‘m not exactly the most…sexually advanced er whatever. S’been a long time, on ah, on datin’ for me. I might be a little boring, and sexually wise…I mean, I just don’t care for it. I’d rather just…cuddle, y’know?"

That’s a big admission for him. Ethan’s reaction could either make or break his night. But if they’re trying this out, he should be honest.

Ethan gets under happily, the sheets clean and fresh from the day prior. While he listens to Mick’s explanation, he shifts and closes the gap between them in silent agreement and understanding. “Sex isn’ the biggest and most important thing to me. I can enjoy it a lot, yeah, but I’d rather do other things. Cuddle can be one of them.” He respects the boundary and doesn’t seem to mind at all- huh. That’s pretty unusual, especially from a guy who looks lile him. “Of course, if you ever actually wanted to…you know…you could ask, somehow. I’m experienced. I can play either role, and we could go slow. But only ever if you want to.” Wow. That’s…actually very thoughtful.  
For now, Ethan moves to press against Mick as of sheltering himself, a hrin rising to his lips for a reason he just can’t seem to explain.

"That’s good, actually. Not a lot of people are open about that. I appreciate it."

The gives him the confidence he needs really. Mick takes the initiative, being sure Ethan’s comfortable first before adjusting himself, staying mindful of those injuries he showed him earlier and lightly threw himself over, bringing Ethan closer against him, repeating in his head over and over that it’s just for warmth. Really, there were other reasons, but the closeness seemed to make him happy at least. “You alright? This good for you?”

Never hurts to be sure. 

"This is great." Ethan reassures Mick, glad to draw close and stay there. "I like it a lot. I’m not fragile. If something hurts, I’ll be sure to take care of it myself. You’ll know. Probably some noise, maybe a kick or two." At least he’s honest. For now, he stays facing mick and just leaves a few small kisses along the man’s collarbone and neck. A hand moves slowly and threads through Mick’s hair almost as an afterthought, tilting the man’s head so he can steal a kiss.

Wow. This is so sickly cute the writer is just…wow.

“Good. Would hate to think all seventy two kilos of me could break you, eh? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? But jus’ a warnin’, I roll. Restless leg ‘n’ all that.”

He returns the kiss, humming against Ethan’s lips and finding so much joy in just being there. Christ, when last the last time he was happy like this? Wont he have something to tell Jenna when he sees her next. 

"Just ah, just a smidge of curiosity, do you mind me stayin’ a few days?" If not, he’d just head back to Virginia. But really, he’s digging this. If Ethan lets him, he’d stay forever. Fuck work, his bosses could wait to have their next big domestic security threat taken care of.

"Stay a few days. Stay a year. See if I care." Ethan teases, clearly looking for a little more attention from Mick, at least briefly. He steals another kiss before settling down for the night, content to fall asleep that way unless pushed for more. He turns on his opposite side now, ending up curled with Mick behind him. Spooning on the first date? Well, it only makes sense, for height’s sake. He’ll be sore in the morning from not laying flat, but it’s so worth it.

He’s out like a light until the sun, or Mick, wakes him.


	3. Chapter 3

“A few days” lasted for a full month. And well, Mick couldn’t help but stay. Really, he grew to love Ethan, something he never expected himself to do ever again. Twice Mick fucked up, but he started to find a sort of balance with Ethan that kept him afloat. And well, work came easier when he had his spotter with him.

They worked a few jobs here or there, and even took on a gang leader, ending with injuries for both of them, Ethan fairing far worse than Mick had in the end. But they’d finished the job, which was the starting point, and were even paid for once with a great sum. But unfortunately, as attached as Mick was to staying with Ethan, his family was deemed just as important, and he made preparations to leave for Wales as soon as he could. His sister was all he had left besides Ethan, he had to split his time.

"Shame you can’t come. But ah, you’re sure you’ll be alright?" funny how his concern was on top if Mick constantly running around, checking about forty times that he had very thing prepared and ready. "Don’t think it’ll be too bad, just a short week, right? S’nothing to be worried about…Unless I ‘ave somethin’ to worry about. Do I ‘ave somethin’ to worry about?" Christ, calm down.

A month sleeping and living and working and laughing beside the man he shot. A month of not knowing exactly what happened to him, why he bears his scars. Mick would know why they wanted him down, though. Ethan is a murderer, but Mick knows that now. They work together, for Christ’s sake. But there is so much he doesn’t know about his boyfriend, and so much he probably never will unless he cares to ask.

But as time has gone on, he will have noticed Ethan is in pain almost constantly. He moves stiffly sometimes when he has no reason to, carries himself as if he were trying to ease an ache, wakes up exhausted, favors a leg every now and then, avoids heavy lifting. What HAPPENED to him? He hides it well, but he aches horribly despite never bringing it up.

"I’m fine. I’ll just stay in bed until you get back, ok?" Ethan grins and goes for his laptop, sticking it under one arm before he gives Mick a soft kiss to the jaw. "Have a safe trip, alright? Bring me back chocolate."

"You and your bloody chocolate," he laughed, planting a kiss on the top of his head before moving out of his way to grab the rest of his things he’ll need. His nervousness was through the roof and really he wished Ethan was going with him. Then again, maybe it was for the best, he’s told Ethan about her fiance’s shitty family. Yeah, it was for the best. 

"Just a week. Maybe four days, depending on if I kill the Brits or not. Knowin’ me someone’s gonna get punched. Wont that be a hoot, eh? Comin’ home with a damn black eye. They’d deserve it. When Ethan settles down he just stares for a bit. "I ah…try not to ‘urt yourself, eh? I’ll ah, I’ll miss you," a glance at is phone made him frown at the time. "I need to go love," he goes back for another kiss, this time on Ethan’s lips, deep and long and he stays for a short while before he pulls off. "I’ll be back."

A slow backing out and he’s gone, already working down the stairs to where he’s got his car parked. It was going to be a long four days. Mick didn’t know if he was ready for it.

Alone. It’s strange. He hasn’t been for so long now. Maybe the dependence is a bad thing, given that he now almost dreads sleeping alone. It isn’t that they’re overly intimate, and they’ve only ever actually slept together once. It’s not about that with them, and it never has been. It leaves him curiously swept up in the emptions of what he knows has to be love, plain and simple.  
He fires Mick a text before the flight, hoping it will go through before he gets on the plane. Overseas charges are so expensive and he won’t have cell service anyway, probably.  
»Lov3 u  
»Com3 hom3 saf3 ok  
  
Horrible texter or not, it’s heartfelt. He then climbs into bed, legs crossed and back flat against the headboard. He logs in and heads to nerflix, but he pauses for a moment as a file on his desktop snatches his attention, like usual. He always watches it, or at least used to. With Mick around, he hasn’t. But…he’s alone now. He can, right?  
He hits play.  
Security footage from two angles the night he got shot, one from a distance and the other close enough to see blood and bone and muscle tear and fly as he goes down. He watches it again, flinching instinctively and reaching up to touch the healed wound that stole his life from him.  
This time, he looks at the other view. And this time, he pauses it to rewind and go frame by frame.  
The weapon. That little swagger at the end. The posture.  
"No…" The word rolls from his lips, muted and horrified. "No fucking way."

Mick isn’t sure why he’s having nightmares. He never has nightmares. His PTSD didn’t work like that. But every night since he landed in Wales, it was the some thing. Gun shot, orders being screamed out, ambulance sirens. 

it gets to the point where Mick checks out and is forced to stay with his grandmother, which added more stress and lead to an altercation where he drank too much and swung at Reg. Asshole deserved it, but he damn near ruined the wedding, agreeing when Jenna suggested that she drive him to the airport that night to send him home. He fought with her on the way, suggesting that Reg was only using her because she was a trophy to him, and he felt shitty about it.

Missing the wedding was one thing. Leaving on bad terms with his sister was another. He loved her, he was only just trying his best to be her brother, but his shit got the better of him.

At least he’d have something to go home to. Hopefully Ethan wouldn’t mind that he’d returned early. Why would he? Just a drive now, a wicked hangover wasn’t the best thing to have on a ten hour flight and he was beyond exhausted. It made him excited to think about what he’d be walking home to. He didn’t even bother to check his phone, it’d been dead for over two days with his forgotten charger.

Soon the complex is in his sight and he’s ecstatic, having a smoke outside first to calm his nerves before taking the stairs too at a home. Home sweet home.

"Ethan?" he calls out when he’s made it to the door, sliding it open and looking around. “‘Ad to come home. M’ sorry it was on short notice, bollocks’ed up some shit and got kicked to the cub. Ethan?"

Ethan has paced, has cried, has screamed his raw rage and frustration for the world to hear. Mick’s abrupt arrival home catches him vulnerable, and more than that. He’s standing over the sink in the kitchen, blood dripping from an injury on his arm and a look of dull surprise on his face. He drops something that he was holding, and it clatters with a light ** _tink_**  into the sink. It was metal. 

He faces Mick in silence for a long while, not sure what he should say. Finally, he finds a single, shaky word. It’s drawn out and quiet, the reason for it clear with no explanation.

"You."  
He knows.

 “You know. You…”

Mick picks up instantly on what Ethan’s talking about. What the fuck is he supposed to say? He’d kept is a secret for so long. Even ignored it to the point he forgot about it. To where it completely slipped his mind. How did he figure it out anyway?

“Course you know. Someone tell you? Bloody fucking…”

Mick’s clearly pissed off, mostly because he’s compromised and also because it wasn’t like he hadn’t been tearing himself apart for months over it. He thought he forgot about it finally, ever since he met Ethan he’d been shoving it away and ignoring what he could. Explained the nightmares and the added cigarettes, the fights he’d been getting into. He never stopped tearing himself. Pacing around, back turned to Ethan as he felt his headache worsen.

"I didn’t know it was you."

"You knew this whole time and you…you…" He can’t find the words, but he looks absolutely crushed. More than that, destroyed. "You walked into my life and you crawled into my bed and you stayed there, always knowing that…" It’s obviously too much for him at this point, and he’s shaking mildly. His arms wrap across his torso, posture slumped and defeated.  
"You didn’t even tell me." Telling him would have resulted in fury, in rage, in him leaving, in violence. They both know that. Mick could have dropped to his knees and begged, still ending up with the same result.  
He stayed because he wanted Ethan. He stayed out of that selfish desire. But is it really selfish, to love?  
"You fucking stole my life. You ruined my goddamn life. This is YOUR fault." Says the killer who got himself hunted in the first place. He’s a criminal, a murderer, a brutal felon who shouldn’t be given pity.  
But he needs it so badly, and Mick had it to give. He’s only human.

"I didn’t know."

The way he says it is quiet “I didn’t know it was you. I was barely twenty, just doing my job. Called in from Britain. Told me they wanted me to take down some criminal they’d been chasing forever. If I…they told me you died, that my shot hit home. Never suspected a thing, they ‘ad no reason to lie to me.”

He’s fucked up about it. That’s obvious. “I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know. I suspected but…there’s so many ways to get scars like that. I didn’t want to know it was you.”

Usually in this situation he’d run, just get as far away as he could. But he owes Ethan the explanation. He deserves it. Mick turned back to face him. He’s more or less angry with himself, from how upset Ethan is, something bad had to have been done to him. “How was I supposed to know this would ‘appen? That they’d lie and…and that I’d fall in love with you, eh? ‘Ow was that my fault? That this’d ‘appen. I ‘ad no idea, I was jus’ doing my job, Ethan.”

"So many different ways to get a bullet-sized hole punched through your torso. Right. Just doing your job. Yeah. Just doing your fucking job." His posture is closed off and he seems to have sunk a few inches into the floor from how small it seems he’s becoming, closing in on himself and turning within to ignore what’s outside. "Just doing your fucking job so they could…they could…" He can’t even find the words, teeth grinding together and muscles taut and still. 

"They ruined me. YOU ruined me."

"You think I would ‘ave done it if I knew it was you? If I knew any of this would ‘appen, us?" he took a few steps forward, trying for that closeness without trying to set him off. His voice is soft and he visibly forces back his accent, he knows better than to force him to listen to what he has to say. So he’s trying to calm him down, it’s about all he can do besides build a time machine and make himself miss the shot. "Please. I’m so sorry. Ethan. Why do you think I left? The corruption, finding out they lied to me about what I was doing? I didn’t want to be a part of that. Never."

His apology doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, except what he did. Didn’t hurt to try. “If I ‘ad known you then…If I knew they would do what they did…I wouldn’t ‘ave…None of this would have ‘appened, love.”

Ethan remains still and quiet as Mick closes in, his gaze down. When the final sentence is stated, that final word is what sets him off. He springs forward and slams a heavy punch straight into the side of Mick’s face, and in the past it’s been known to be enough to cause the bone to cave. Thankfully he’s off-balance and emotional, so it won’t hit that point. “You ASSHOLE.” A second blow is thrown, straight for Mick’s side. This time, it’s a lot weaker. “I can’t even fucking BELIEVE you…you…” His words break off into a hitched, muffled sob that he barely manages to disguise at all before he just…gives up. He falls to his knees and he stays there, face now in his hands as he forces himself to remember to breathe.

He remains there for a second before he tries to get up again, although he’s dizzy and his head is reeling. He speaks under his breath now, in German. “Ich werde dich töten. Ich werde es auch genießen.” English, next. “Please. Get your things and go. Just for now. I need to think, ok? I have to think. Please, get your stuff, and get out.” It’s all in the bedroom, exactly where he left it.

The crack on the side of his face makes him recoil back, and even when his side his hit it’s still enough to push the wind out of him. Scrambling away, he watches Ethan’s explosion with frightened eyes, Ethan can do a lot worse, he’s seen it happen, ad well, forced with losing someone he loves and his own life, selfishness wins out.

"Al…Alright."

It was going to come to this, Mick should have known. He fucked up. And he’s owning up to it. Staggering up to his feet he doesn’t say anymore, just walks to the bedroom and avoids looking at Ethan. Appology didn’t work. What did he expect?

Good thing he doesn’t have a lot of things, and that a majority of it was already packed away for Wales. be more awkward if he had to stay for an hour to pack properly. His headache is worsened by the time he pulled a majority of his things out. 

What a shitty week this was turning out to be.

As Mick packs, Ethan moves into action. It’s when he’s almost done that Ethan appears in the doorway, a quiver in his voice  ”Do you know what they did to me? Did you ever find that out?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, closing the gap between them until it’s no more than a few inches. “Probably not. Why would you care, anyway? You were just doing your FUCKING job.” It’s abrupt, the push that comes to Mick. It’s followed by another hefty blow to the ribs, definitely enough to get him to bend over. A knee to the gut follows, and Ethan’s got the man down on the bed. This is no lover’s romp. He pushes hard again and forces Mick’s arms up, wrenching them in their sockets with cruel strength. He’s got handcuffs. They snap into place on the head board in an instant, and he snarls down at Mick like some cornered wild animal.

"They fucking cut me open and RUINED me. They violated the ONE thing nobody should be allowed to take from you. My fucking HUMANITY was altered because YOU took a shot and YOU didn’t just fucking kill me. You left me to suffer on their fucking operating table for two FUCKING months and I’m STILL working for them because of you. This is YOUR fault." They did…what?

Oh. Oh no.

With a pause only to position himself, he’s got the contacts out, taking no care where he simply tosses them away. Blazing green eyes fire out at Mick, flaring with inhuman intensity. 

"They fucking RUINED me."

it moves too fast for Mick’s brain to follow, he only knows that he’s suddenly in a lot of pain. and that he’s not able to move too much because of it. What the fuck?

He’s somewhat out of it as he’s trying to process what’s happening, picking up Ethan’s anger and realizing he’s being attacked. And it’s far too late to try and fight back. Ethan’s strength is incredible and Mick is too winded to cry out when the pain becomes too much.

Mick’s afraid of him. It’s evident in the way he cowers once he’s locked to the headboard. All this time and he had no idea…It’s the eyes that scare him the most. But now a lot of things make sense, how he’s so strong, so fast. Shit. What did they do? Why would someone do that to a person?  _Why didn’t he just kill him_?

"I didn’t know," he manages once he finally starts to breath again, finally understanding all of it. "I didn’t fucking know! I wasn’t part of the fucking operation, I was jus’ a catalyst! I didn’t know!"

Why is he even trying to explain himself? Maybe because he doesn’t believe Ethan could still hurt him. Or kill him. But the more he watched, the less likely it was he’d make it out alive. His sides hurt when he breathed, Ethan probably fractured something. Great. Even if he did live, he was going to be fucked up.

"They turned me into a cyborg. They fucking cut me op and tore me apart and didn’t even ask me for permission. And they left me paralyzed in that FUCKING cell and I couldn’t even DEFEND myself from…from…FUCK YOU!" A sharp punch to the face again, although once more he’s just not as strong as he would be because he’s so emotional. Who can blame him? This is his worst nightmare, come true. The man he fell for, the man he LOVED…is the same one who ripped his life apart by pulling a trigger.

"YOU wanted a trophy TOO, didn’t you? Fucking HUNTERS, that’s what you all are. Take pieces of everyone and just display them proudly. Only you needed me alive. So you kept me like a fucking trophy." That’s definitely not the case, but to his tormented mind it seems accurate. He pulls off of Mick and heads back to the kitchen, returning with a well-honed knife.

"Do you even have anything to SAY about it?"

When Ethan leaves he feels even more frightened than he was before. He’s not sure what this man’s capable of. When he demands if Mick has anything to say, he sighed. Better to get it all out in the open.

"I kept the shell years ago. That’s the only trophy I took out of this entire thing. Falling in love with you wasn’t part of the plan."

He’s trying to keep blood from welling in his nose, Ethan’s hit nearly cracked him. He could taste the copper in his mouth from where he bit into his cheek. He had to breath through his mouth now, which probably made him only look even more pathetic. He coughed a bit, trying to focus past the pain in his head. Christ. He didn’t even see the knife in Ethan’s hands when he returned.

"Runnin’ into you wasn’t coincidence. I knew they lied, did somethin’. One of them was one of my closest friend, and ‘e lied to me. So I… I went to find you. I wanted to know what they used me for. And then I made a mistake. I let myself get close and I fucked up. I knew what I did, but I wanted something so badly once I ‘ad it I ignored what was wrong with it. I didn’t know it’d be like this…what exactly they did to you. I didn’t know they were using me to create some monster."

Ethan reels back at the statement, looking completely hurt. There’s a deeply-set pain in his eyes, and it quakes over into raw, unfiltered rage. “You…you fucking…” And in that moment, he feels like the biggest joke in the room. He fell for Mick. He welcomed the romance, the partnership. He needed that. He’s been so lonely for so long now that when it came his way he couldn’t possibly dream of breaking it off.

But this is where it’s led him. This is the fruit it’s born. This is what happens when a monster plays at being human, even for a short while. He looks like he’s about to cry, especially at that last statement. 

But that isn’t what he does. Instead, he brandishes the knife so he’s sure Mick has seen it, voice a hoarse and dry whisper. “I”m going to give you a taste of what they did to me. Just enough so you know.” With that, he’s on the bed again, now unbuckling mick’s belt, getting his shoes out of the way, forcefully yanking his pants down. The shirt follows, and he doesn’t open the restraints. He simply cuts through the fabric that won’t move with unapologetic fury. He grabs Mick’s wrist, the metal teasingly and lightly tracing down his skin before he abruptly applies more pressure…and cuts.

It’s not a line thick enough to make him bleed out, not yet, but he traces it down the arm not unlike the scars he bears. Once at the bottom, he heads back the other direction, hand steady and lips twisted into a quiet little grin. 

Mick screams when the knife cuts him; his pain tolerance is so low that he struggles, only serving to get the knife deeper in him. Blood wells from the cuts and from contracting his hands he’s pushing more blood out. He’s not the best with torture, unfortunately he was always too good to get himself caught like this.

When Ethan drags it back up, however, the pain is white hot and he feels himself going into shock the longer he watches, eyes shutting to try and chase away the sensation. There’s nothing he can do, not really, not when he can still feel the knife going into him.

 _Two fucking inches! I was off by two fucking inches!_  He would have said it out loud if the pain wasn’t causing him to cry out.

Two inches are going to cost Mick his life. Ethan doesn’t stop, now going for the other arm. He takes his sweet time, making two passes. Next are legs, and he does the same. He can’t exactly twist Mick over to get across his shoulders and hips, but Ethan thinks he’s done enough of that. Satisfied, the knife gripped in one hand, he leans over Mick’s prone form and leans down, stealing a kiss almost as if he were sucking the man’s life out with it. A wry smirk crosses his lips and he backs off, now slipping off the bed and disappearing…until he comes back with a power drill.

He gives the trigger two rapid pulls to test the battery. The bit is thin and long. He moves closer, planting it firmly on Mick’s right thigh…and he drills down in. Once, twice, three times. Then to the next leg. He’s taking his time, and he’s clearly having fun, too.

"Hmm." The hum is a quiet thought, almost as if he’s deciding if he’s done enough.

Mick manages to keep himself from screaming bloody murder once Ethan finishes with his limbs. He can barely feel them now, blood loss to some extent that Mick can’t even tell anymore. When Ethan kisses him, however, he struggles again, serving only to make matters worse and he doesn’t have the strength to really fight it. At least he has a moment when Ethan breaks off to assess himself. The cuts are so bad, but he can’t stop looking.

And then he feels the drill.

It’s screaming again, while he can’t feel he legs really he feels the bit his his bone, agony almost too much. Even when Ethan stops, Mick’s not sure if he can even move. He’s starting to lose it, either he’s dying or passing out. Or both. He didn’t know. All he can do is sit there and bleed quietly.

"You know, they did a lot more to me. I was unconscious for most of it. I don’t really remember the parts they woke me up for, to get me to move or try moving. But I do remember how it felt." The bloody drill is given another pump of the trigger before being set down. "You aren’t very sturdy, are you? Of course you’d kill from a distance. You’d never survive up close." He knows he’s right. He stands up off the bed and wanders to the bathroom, bloody and somewhat…tired. He returns with a mixture of pills in his hand and a glass of water in the other that would make a druggie blush…and it doesn’t take a genius to know that will be lethal. Almost absently, he pops the first few and swallows down, pausing before continuing. About halfway through, he coughs and is clearly having more trouble. 

"Before I get too sleepy, I should make sure you get to live a bit longer than me. Consider it…one last act. Of love, you know?" The knife is back in a hand the instant he’s got the pills down, and he’s over Mick again, hand moving to pry the man’s eyelids open and position his weapon with a little smile.   
"Brown suited me better, when I had it." And with that, the knife goes in. It doesn’t take him long to pry the eyeball free, and it’s quite possible that might just make Mick pass out. If not, he dangles the bloody mess before tossing it away and going in for the second one. "Bye, Spätzchen." And with that, he takes the man’s sight completely.

The small knick to the front of his throat might honestly not even be felt right away after all that’s happened, but it will ensure that one way or another, Mick is going to bleed out. Ethan is feeling tired, foggy in the head. The blade is set down neatly on Mick’s stomach, and he steps away from the bed, wandering to the living room to drop on the couch and remain there on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his eyes drift closed. Sleep sounds nice. A lot of it.

Being blinded wasn’t the worst part. But that was what finally set him into shock. He doesn’t reply to Ethan because he can’t, his head can’t form the words. When Ethan takes his eyes he head just rolls back, black holes staring at the ceiling as everything went numb. He could barely hear Ethan anyway, he couldn’t tell if he was alive or not. Maybe he deserved this…

He tries to make a noise with his mouth but his throat’s too dry, nothing but a weak croak before everything falls limp. He feels something metal on his stomach. Then he doesn’t remember anything. Just a void. He can’t hear Ethan at all anymore, can’t feel any vibrations from footsteps.

And then there’s nothing, really. No voices, no light, just darkness.


End file.
